It's A Shame
by Daisy Miller
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that . . . Draco Malfoy will always be a git.[Dramione, Complete]
1. Git

A/N: "It's A Shame" will be something a bit softer than my previous attempt at a Draco/Hermione romance (the slightly embarrassing "Oh Malfoy!", the even worse "Cherry Lipstick," and the incredibly short "Gabrielle.")

I have one story planned (4 to 5 chapters long)and, because of Half-Blood Prince, it'll be post-Hogwarts. It'll be less graphic and mature, but the language might be strong enough to warrant a "T" rating. I'll focus more on keeping everyone in character, too.

_Loosely_ based on Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_ (I've wanted to do this for nearly two years now).

All comments are appreciated (esp. if they are in regard to mistakes concerning canon facts, characterization and/or British slang).

**Disclaimer (for this and all following chapters):** I do not own Harry Potter. The summary is paraphrased from Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_, though the "Malfoy being a git" part is all me.

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"It's A Shame"

Chapter One: Git

Society is a rather complex thing. It has different planes and levels and facets, especially in regard to acquaintances and relationships. There is an invisible rule book that one must read in order to function in any type of society. Most people read the rule book without ever knowing it. However, there are a select few who are able to throw the invisible rule book out of the invisible (and quite proverbial) window.

Draco Malfoy considered himself a part of this select few. He was too rich and important to care about societal rules that applied to him. Though, I must tell you, this mind set did not stop him from believing that everyone poor and unimportant _must_ follow the rules of society. If he could consider you, in any way possible, below him, then you had to follow the rules. If you didn't, then you were a waste of space, body, air, and anything else you were using up.

He was just that much of a git.

But git or not, Draco Malfoy was still partly responsible for ridding the Wizarding World of evil. The other parts were, almost regrettably in his mind, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and any other member of the Order of the Phoenix.

It was a shame that he hadn't been able to do it himself, but he figured it was at least good that Voldemort was gone. At least he didn't have anyone telling him what to do, apart from his mother (who he believed was quickly going senile).

"What's the matter Malfoy?" asked Harry, an annoying smile on his face. "Can't get a girl to dance with you?"

Malfoy grimaced, sweeping his harsh blue eyes over the guests. They were at a Ministry ball for some charity event. It was supposed to be important and exclusive. He couldn't help but feel that the Ministry's standards were falling irrevocably. Harry Potter was, for once, a wanted reprieve from having to socialize with _them_.

"I can get any girl I want, Potter," he said. "I just don't want any of_ those_."

Harry's smile increased. It was still weird to talk to Malfoy, but after the last battle between good and evil, they had formed a forced friendship. It wasn't like the deep friendship that Harry shared with Ron and Hermione. It had different limitations and expectations; it was a silent thank you. Harry was saying "Hey, thanks for helping out the Order," and Malfoy was saying "Thanks for getting rid of that pain in arse, Voldemort."

"Where's Pansy?"

Draco shrugged. "Probably puking. I saw her down a few bottles of rum earlier."

"Rum? Where'd she get rum?"

Draco shrugged, unconcerned a close friend of his could possibly be seriously ill. "I think Weasley's looking for you."

Harry followed Draco's gaze. Ginny was standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by glorious witches and wizards talking happily about things that glorious witches and wizards talk about. Her keen eyes scanned the over the tops of their heads. Hermione was standing next to her, surveying the room as well. She spotted Harry and Draco and poked Ginny's arm.

"I think your object of affection is over there," Harry heard Hermione say with a laugh, as she steered Ginny in his direction.

Ginny's determined expression melted into a smile. "Where've you been, Harry?"she asked, giving him a small kiss on his cheek. "I've been looking all over for you." She spared a glance at Malfoy, a forced smile on her face. "Come on," she said, turning back to Harry "let's dance."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, perhaps protest at having to dance, but Ginny had latched onto his arm and began to pull him out onto the dance floor.

The departure of Harry and Ginny, left Hermione and Draco standing next to each other. She seemed unaffected by his presence and kept her eyes on Ginny and Harry dancing.

"You know," said Malfoy after a few seconds of silence, "it's a shame."

Hermione arched her left eyebrow. "What is, Malfoy?" she asked cautiously.

"That you're so smart. Almost makes you respectable."

Her right eyebrow joined the left one. "It's a shame you're so rich. Almost makes you tolerable," she replied before walking away with a grimace.

She heard Draco's hard laugh trail behind her and she just shook her head, wondering why he insisted on insulting her. Most often, his insults were delivered when Hermione was the only one to hear his practiced wit (for surely he sat at home thinking of horribly clever things to say; he couldn't just come up with those things spontaneously), and she was never bothered by it.

Anyone else would have gotten bored by now. Draco had, after all, let up considerably on the Weasleys, when he realized it wasn't nearly as fun taking jabs at their financial state when they were actually pretty well off. The Weasleys had been thanked for their participation in killing Voldemort with a rather nice sum of galleons that was currently sitting in a vault at Gringott's earning a nice percentage of interest. He had even stopped making fun of Harry and his permanent scar.

But Hermione was subject to limitless abuse concerning her appearance, family, hobbies, and personality traits. He just never quit, even though her hair wasn't _nearly_ as bushy as it as when she was in school, and she wasn't nearly as bossy either.

In reality, the only reason he really insulted her anymore was because he couldn't seem to get her out of his mind. It wasn't that he liked her, but that she never seemed affected by him. He would revile everything she loved, and she would simply raise her eyebrows, reply with something equally insulting, and walk off.

It drove him mad, and he was beginning to think that Hermione Granger had no heart, which, theoretically, went against everything she tried to be: kind, caring, righteous.

The idea that Hermione had no heart was a rather ironic thing to think of her, considering that many felt Draco didn't have a heart either.

But he did have a heart, just like Hermione. He had had his feelings hurt more than once, and he chose to show that through anger and superiority, instead of crying like a Pansy. Hermione chose to show her hurt through good sensibility and a calm demeanor, although she had relied on the "silent treatment" a few times.

Their natural tendencies to mask their hurt led them to a stalemate. He would insult her, she would insult him, and they would never know that the other was affected by what he or she said.

The cycle seemed perpetual.

Draco sighed and stayed in his little corner until the glass in his hand had gone dry, and he ventured off in search of a refill. As he picked up a new glass of some reddish liquid that looked as if it might be some type of wine, he tried to remember why he had come to this event in the first place. He couldn't even remember what charity he was supposed to be sponsoring and he had the idea that he hadn't really sponsored it to begin with. It was probably something his father had donated to once, in hopes that the Malfoy name would stay free of any evil entanglements.

The night was starting to look up when he spotted a young brunette eyeing him flirtatiously. Unfortunately, when he made his way over to her, he bumped into Hermione.

Hermione rubbed her shoulder. "Are you alright Malfoy?" she asked. It wasn't like him to literally bump into people. He was always guarded, keeping his eyes out for potential allies and enemies. She had no recollection of him ever taking a wrong step and knocking into something.

He sneered. "Yes. Why?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

Hermionebrushed past him, and he caught a glimpse of something that confused him. He saw her eyes. She looked worried, and what confused him was the reason she looked worried. Certainly she wasn't worried about_ him_? She didn't care about him. She, more or less, ignored him on a ritualistic basis. For a brief second, she had shown a tiny bit of emotion towards him, and he wondered why.

It didn't help that the candlelight had somehow heightened the color of her eyes, causing them to sparkle with a cinnamon fire, deep inside her pupils. He blinked, trying to wipe away the sight of her worried eyes and continued his way towards the young brunette.

The young brunette was gone, however, and he decided that his sorrows would fare much better if they had the companionship of a nice bottle of fire-whiskey. He loosened his tie as he left the room.

Hermione watched him leave, her eyes narrowed at his back. He had been acting normally earlier that evening, but an hour later, he was bumping into her and leaving a ball that was overrun with rich, gorgeous-looking witches, all of whom would have giggled with delight had he walked up to any one of them and smirked.

Draco Malfoy was not the type of person to pass up an opportunity to shag an admiring fan of his.

She thought about following him, asking him if he was alright, give him a chance to pour out his troubles, but she quickly decided that her help would not be appreciated, and her efforts would simply be mocked. There was no need to even try when it came to Malfoy. Just let him be.

But there was still a nagging worry in the back of her mind, and she resolved herself to observe him for the next few days, to see if this strange behavior was consistent.

_end of chapter one_

(tbc)


	2. Pride

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed!

"It's A Shame"

Chapter Two: Pride

Two weeks later, she was able to feel that his behavior was, in fact, altered by something plaguing his mind (_or perhaps his conscience_, she thought, _if he even has one_). He had accepted an invitation for dinner at The Burrow, which was a rarity, though, admittedly, it was not a strange occurrence. He sometimes accepted the weekly invitations as a sign of gratitude towards the Weasleys. They were the only family who were willing to trust him after he decided to leave the ranks of Voldemort. He wasn't the type of person to say "Thank you," and he tried to make up for it by tolerating a few hours of Weasley chaos every few weeks.

So while his presence at The Burrow was not unusual, the fact that he hadn't once insulted Hermione _was_.

He barely maintained eye contact, didn't comment on her prudish dress, didn't even notice that she was carrying a large leather-bound book around with her, and didn't insult her lineage.

It was weird, but she seemed to be the only one who noticed.

"Hey, Ginny," asked Hermione, as she sat down next to Ginny. They were in the backyard, seated at a large picnic table, waiting for Mrs. Weasley to call them in for dinner."Did you notice that Malfoy is acting a little . . . distant?"

"He's always distant, Hermione." Ginny rested her head in her hands and watched Harry and Ron as they played a game of Quidditch. Hermione noticed a small infatuated smile on the girl's face, but didn't point it out.

"Yes, but he hasn't insulted anyone today," Hermione continued.

"You mean, he hasn't insulted _you_." Ginny turned to Hermione, smiling deviously. "Maybe he _likes _you."

"Oh don't be ridiculous, Gin. Draco Malfoy doesn't like anyone but himself."

"I don't know . . . " said Ginny, looking past Hermione at Draco, who was standing beside the table, watching the Quidditch game. The summer breeze tugged at his blonde hair and the tails of his white shirt, and his hands were stuffed in his pockets. "There was a time, before . . . you know . . . .that he, well, it seemed like he hated himself for becoming a Death Eater and all. That's why he still only wears long-sleeved shirts, even in the summer, because he doesn't want anyone to see his the scar his Mark left when . . . I mean, we all know it's there; it's not like anyone would be surprised to see it. No one would judge him. But he still hides it, like he's ashamed or something."

Hermione nodded, looking curiously at Malfoy, until she caught his eye, and she turned away.

Malfoy turned slowly away from Hermione's gaze, wondering if she knew how she was affecting him. He was still pondering why she had been worried about him and the only thing that he could come up with was that she wasn't worried about him, but worried about something else; she just happened to show that she was worried about this other thing while she was brushing past him. It was purely a coincidence.

The only reason he was not satisfied by this explanation was that she kept looking at him oddly, as if expecting him to break down and start crying.

He didn't have time to think long this, because Mrs. Weasley called everyone inside for dinner, and he was momentarily distracted by the realization that he had been seated next to _her_.

_Her_, fortunately (or unfortunately depending on he looked at it), was not Hermione. _Her_ was Fleur.

He had nothing against the Delacours as a family, and he rather enjoyed looking at Fleur, for she was extremely attractive. But Fleur was bossy and seemed to think that she was the high authority on everything.

Draco Malfoy hated being told what he should and should not do. And at the present moment, he was being told that he should really host one of the weekly dinners at Malfoy Manor, instead of putting Mrs. Weasley ("Molly" she called her) through the hassle of "'aving to prepare a dinner for all zeeze people."

The dinner party had become unusually quiet. The only person who didn't seem aware of the discourtesy in such a statement was Fleur herself (and maybe Fred and George but only because they weren't really paying attention to what was going on).

Bill, who was seated next to his wife, cleared his throat. "You know Mum doesn't mind, Fleur," he said. "Besides its easier for everyone to just come to the Burrow."

Fleur frowned. "Well, I didn't mean to say zat your mother . . . ."

Bill rested his hand on her knee. "It's okay. Let's just get back to eating, shall we?" He looked pointedly around the table and dinner slowly continued.

Draco was going to leave it at that, but he really didn't need _Bill Weasley_ standing up for him. His pride prevented him from taking any help in winning his petty battles. His mouth opened before he even realized what he was doing.

Pride is a folly at times.

"Actually, that sounds like a good idea," he said. "As long as it's alright with you, Mrs. Weasley?"

Mrs. Weasley colored and put a hand to her to her chest. "Oh, that would be lovely," she replied, trying not to seem overly excited. An invitation to Malfoy Manor was not to be taken lightly, for it was not given out lightly. It was a compliment.

"Right then," said Draco, his voice a little constrained. He just started to realize the ramifications of what he had done–Mother was not going to be happy. "I'll see you all on Sunday at five."

Mrs. Weasley nodded in confirmation, and dinner once again continued.

Draco's eyes immediately fell to his plate as contemplated how next Sunday would go. It would be awkward, he was sure, and he would probably make a fool of himself more than once. He hated looking like an idiot, feeling like everyone was looking down on him, thinking, "I can't believe he just _did_ that!"

It made him feel small and Draco Malfoy was not small. In more ways than one.

He looked up briefly and found that Hermione was studying him from across the table. She still looked worried about him, but there was a hint of curiosity in her brown eyes and her lips were turned up in a little, appreciative smile.

It made him feel a little better about his rash actions. She was looking at him kindly and that must mean something good. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but remember why he had never liked her in the first place. She was a muggle-born and, inevitably, below him. He realized that, although he had changed since he was in school, he still clutched onto the belief that pureblood was always better. He didn't think he would ever lose that belief, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

The tricky thing about beliefs, though, is that they aren't always right. They are a matter of opinions, and opinions have the nasty habit of changing before you even knew it _could_ be changed.

Later that evening, Hermione was helping Mrs. Weasley and Ginny clean up after dinner when Mrs. Weasley suddenly sat her wand down and said, "Good heavens! Dinner at Malfoy Manor!"

"What am I going wear?" exclaimed Ginny, doing a mental examination of her wardrobe.

Hermione smiled reassuringly. "It's just dinner. You can wear what you normally wear. There's no need to blow this out of proportion."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I suppose. I wonder why he invited us. It does seem a little strange for him, doesn't it?"

"Yes," answered Hermione thoughtfully. "I think he . . . I think he might be changing, Mrs. Weasley."

"Well, he's a good boy. He's had to do a lot things in the past few years that goes against what a Malfoy stands for. The poor thing . . . ." Mrs. Weasley shook her head, trying to forget about the horrors of Voldemort's reign.

They were silent for a few more minutes, when Ginny exclaimed again, "What _am_ I going to wear?"

_end of chapter two_

_(tbc)_


	3. Heart

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. The ending for this chapter was a little hard to write, so any comments are appreciated!_

"It's A Shame"

Chapter Three: Heart

Mrs. Malfoy was not happy. She was actually rather angry and disappointed.

Her son, for some ridiculous reason–probably something to do his unswerving Pure-blood pride– had invited the whole Weasley family to Malfoy Manor for Sunday _dinner_.

Regrettably, the Weasley family always included Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and probably some other menial members of that stupid Order.

It was a heinous way to pay her back for everything she had done for him. She gave _birth_ to him; she saved his _life_. The least he could do was let her live the rest of her life traitor-free.

"Oh, why don't you just invite the whole wizarding community over, Mudbloods and all!" she had shouted when he told her the news.

"Mother," he had replied with a sneer. "It would benefit you to remember that the house now belongs to me, and I can invite whoever I want."

His reminder was harsh and she felt it was a rather low blow–even for a Malfoy–reminding her that her husband had left the Malfoy estate to _him_ and not _her_. It was probably the only time she ever hated Pure-blood traditions. Then again, Lucius hadn't known that his son would turn out the way that he did, and Narcissa found she couldn't resent her late husband. She could, however, find reason to burn his portrait every now and again. Of course the stupid git had put some silly charm on it, so she couldn't destroy it permanently, but it never hurt to try.

"Mother," said Malfoy on Sunday, standing in the doorway of the study. Lucius' portrait hung on the far wall and was smoking softly. "They're here."

She smirked derisively and walked out of the study, Draco following her silently. She may not like these people, but she was still Mrs. Malfoy and it was her duty to at least _pretend_.

"Welcome," she said, and while her voice sounded like it always does, there was not a hint of civility in it. The only reason no one was ever really offended by her lack of civility, was that most believed her voice was not capable of ever being civil. Her actions, though, showed a reserved politeness that is often associated with the aristocracy and the guests were assured that their presence was not an inconvenience.

They were led through the house and into the gardens. It was, after all, a beautiful summer day and it only seemed appropriate to have dinner outside, amongst the perfectly landscaped gardens. There was a tent set up to provide relief from the sun, should it ever get too warm, and off to the left there was a small Quidditch pitch set up.

It didn't take long for Ron to get a game going, and soon Ron and Harry were surprisingly beating Fred and George. Mr and Mrs Weasley had made themselves comfortable, sitting at a table under the tent, and Hermione and Ginny were idly chatting as they watched the small Quidditch game. Draco stood back, observing them all, his hands in his pockets. His mother had excused herself, saying she had a very important letter that needed to be responded to promptly.

The presence of the guests surprisingly did not bother Draco and he found he was rather relaxed. He stiffened, however, when he noticed Hermione approaching him.

When she reached him, she smiled warmly and said, "This is very nice of you."

"I see you made an effort," he replied, looking at her dress. "You didn't quite make it, but I suppose you can't be blamed for trying."

She seemed unfazed by his harsh greeting. "I don't suppose you could point me in the direction of the lavatory?"

He smirked and nodded. "I'll escort you personally," he said, and while the words were polite, she felt that his tone was a little sarcastic, maybe even derisive.

He was a little perturbed by her sudden change, you see. Not only had she given him a smile that was unusually sincere, but she had also failed to even acknowledge his insult; she didn't even raise an eyebrow.

He led her down the hall and stopped at the fifth door on the left. He gave her a curt nod before leaving her. He could feel her eyes on his back as he walked away from her, and he imagined that she was looking at him worriedly again. He turned the corner and he was out of her sight. The back of his head was tingling slightly where she had been eyeing him, and he ran his hand through his hair. He immediately regretted giving in to the physical habit, for it messed his hair up, and he had to take a quick detour to his bedroom to straighten everything out again.

When he returned to the gardens, he sat down and watched the Quidditch game progress. His mind inevitably returned to Hermione and her eyes and her perfectly arched eyebrows and . . . he realize that he could just ask her why she was worried.

In this case, his curiosity took precedence over his pride and he told himself he would simply ask her what has been troubling her. Of course, the question would need to be asked at the right time, when they were alone and there was no one around to witness any unusual behavior on his part. These conditions were going to be hard to fill, for it was rare that Draco and Hermione were ever alone.

However, as he looked around the gardens, he noticed that Hermione had not returned yet, and he ventured off to see if she had perhaps gotten lost.

_Surprisingly_, he found her in the library. He wondered if some sort of alarm went off when she was in the vicinity of books. She was staring admirably at the tall bookshelves that lined the walls, her head tipped upwards, her hair cascading around her shoulders, and he could see the beginnings of a smile, the corner of her lips tucked into her pink cheeks.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She jumped and turned around quickly, her hand over her heart. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I was just walking past and I . . . ."

"It's alright," he said, stepping further into the room. "The library was my father's. I never come here anymore."

"Oh," said Hermione. "It's a very nice collection. A lot of . . . interesting subject matter." She turned her attention back to the books, reading the titles. She took a few steps to her right, until she was standing on front of Draco.

"You're welcome to borrow anything."

"Oh no, I couldn't."

He shrugged listlessly, slanting an eyebrow in her direction.

"Malfoy?" she asked suddenly, her small smile now a straight line. Her eyes were worried again; they held that hint of emotion he had seen at the Ministry charity event, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to form some semblance of composure. He was suddenly aware of the effect that her eyes had on him. He had been focused on one small look from her for weeks and that made him uncomfortable, as if she knew he was thinking about her constantly.

He supposed one might venture to say that he was obsessed, or even infatuated, with Hermione Granger's eyes.

He tried to remind himself that brown was the color of mud.

"Have you been feeling alright?" she asked. "It's just, you've been acting strangely for the past few weeks and I was wondering if there was anything you'd like to talk about. I'm always ready to listen, Malfoy."

The irony was not lost on him (she thought there was something wrong with _him_, when he thought there was something wrong with _her_). She was completely serious, and he felt he wanted to laugh. He looked to his feet instead, and cleared his throat.

"Actually, Granger, there was something I wanted to say to you."

She perked up, her eyes soft and caring, waiting patiently for him to spill his thoughts and feelings.

"Tell me," he continued, feeling a familiar hate for the pity in her eyes, "is there some type of alarm that goes off when you get close to books? Because it's awfully pathetic, that out of all the rooms in this house, you had to find the library."

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest with a huff of indignation. "You're a selfish git, do you know that Malfoy?"

"As a matter of fact . . . ."

"That was a rhetorical question!"

"The why did you ask it, _Mudblood_?"

And she slapped him, just like in third year, her arm raising up and her hand snapping forward, connecting with his soft white cheek and leaving a stinging red imprint of her anger. She almost gasped when she realized what she had done, but his smirk erased any feeling of guilt.

"You deserve that," she said, before walking out of the library.

Draco Malfoy stood still, watching her leave. There was a small, _very small_, part of him that knew she was right; he deserved much more than just a slap, maybe even a bloody nose.

He had the explicable notion that his words _did_ matter to her.

Hermione Granger had a heart, it seemed, and he wondered if he had one too.

_–end of chapter three_

_(tbc)_


	4. Apology

_A/N: This is the final chapter; I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review, and let me know what you thought about it!_

"It's A Shame"

Chapter Four: Apology

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Hermione burst into the dining room just as everyone was sitting down, her lips pursed in frustration and her eyebrows furrowed. The conversation notably quieted, although no one said anything directly. Draco followed a few minutes later. His facial expression held no sign of distress, but his posture was lacking its usual arrogance.

As dinner progressed, the tension between Hermione and Draco only seemed to worsen, but their negative feelings did not seem to hamper the goodwill of the other guests. In fact they seemed to be compensating for it.

Dinner soon came to an end, and, as they were leaving, Hermione was certain Draco was going to say something rude or harsh to her. He had to be angry at her, after all, and it was only a matter of time before he sought revenge.

She walked passed him, waiting for his thin lips to open and release some jibe that had been rolling around in his head all through dinner. She smiled at him curtly.

"Good evening, Hermione," he said, his voice light and friendly.

She faltered for a second, but quickly realized that he was up to something; he must have some type of plan in mind and he was trying to confuse her. She decided to act like she normally would to Draco Malfoy, and she simply ignored his comment with an icy shrug of her shoulder. She felt a thrill of satisfaction when his eyes narrowed in anger and frustration, and she smiled secretly to herself.

Her triumph, however, did not last long. Euphoria has an expiration date, after all, and it was only a few hours before Hermione started to feel guilty for treating Malfoy so coldly. She could remember how uncharacteristically nice he had been to the Weasley family that day, and although he had insulted her in the end, he _had_ been polite to her as she left.

And she had shoved that politeness–that apparent apology– back in his face

She realized that she was the one acting weirdly now. Her reaction to his friendliness was appalling and frankly, she was ashamed of herself.

"Do you think I was rude to him?" she asked Ginny the next day, as they sat in the middle of a noisy Leaky Cauldron.

"To who?"

"Draco, when we left yesterday, he was nice and I thought at the time he was making fun of me, but . . . ."

Ginny shrugged. "I thought you two acted like you usually did around each other."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you were obviously arguing about something. Isn't that it always is with you two? Always arguing?"

"Well, yes, but . . . recently, Ginny, I think . . ." Hermione paused for a second, feeling a foreign bout uncertainty. The last few weeks had changed her perspective towards Draco. When she thought about him, it was as Draco and not Malfoy. He suddenly seemed much kinder than he appeared before, and he occupied her thoughts frequently. To say that her world had been turned upside down would have sounded cliche even to her. Instead, it was like she was seeing something that wasn't there before, a sprig of green leaves on a cold barren field.

He was changing and so was she; they were both moving towards the same conclusions, the same feelings and suddenly she could see it all (although what it all was, she wasn't quite sure).

"I have to apologize!" said Hermione. "I have to write him a letter."

Ginny smiled impishly. "Are you falling in love with Draco Malfoy?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous. I could never fall in love Malfoy. Even if I could fall in love with Malfoy, he would never love a _muggleborn_."

"He did seem awfully preoccupied with you on Sunday . . . ."

"He was not _preoccupied_ with me. He called me a Mudblood. That is not preoccupation; that's anger."

"He actually said _that_?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, and I, er, slapped him."

"Well, he certainly deserved it."

"Yes, but as we were leaving, he was so nice! I think he was apologizing."

"You should talk to him," said Ginny, taking a sip of her tea. She checked her watch. "I've got to go, but I'll see you later."

"Bye Ginny," said Hermione, standing up and giving Ginny a hug. They made plans to meet in a few days–Harry's birthday was coming up and they both needed to get him something–and Ginny left, leaving Hermione pondering the nature of her feelings towards Draco.

It was few minutes after Ginny's departure, when she decided that there is no definitive reason why indifference can turn to fondness or why hate can turn to love. Feelings change; it is simply a fact of life. Time can mold even the most unmalleable opinions and beliefs. One small action can bring an avalanche of changes: one worried look, one curious thought, one small act of apology. That was all it took sometimes, a step in the right direction.

It was hours later when she got the chance to sit down and compose a letter to Malfoy. She apologized and invited him to lunch the next day, saying that she wanted to apologize properly, in person. She wrote it quickly and sent it off, anxiously awaiting his reply.

She found herself biting her fingernails. She found herself shifting in her chair, until she stood up to see out of the window. The window became fogged with her breath and she wiped it with the sleeve of her jumper–she was so nervous that she didn't even thinking about using a spell.

The clock in the hallway had just struck nine, when she saw a brown owl land on the windowsill. She let the owl in, reaching for Malfoy's letter. Tearing it open, she read his reply.

_I'll be there_, is what it said.

She sighed, frustrated at his vague response, and let the letter flutter down to the floor. She shook her head, wondering if Draco was really worth all this energy.

But there was no turning back now: she would have lunch with him tomorrow because her feelings had already made their transformation. She liked him–she probably even fancied him–and she knew she would probably end up loving the stupid git . . . .

The next day, wearing her best dress, she sat across from him and reminded herself that she had known him since she was eleven years old. He was nothing new. Just Draco Malfoy. He was sitting patiently, his posture relaxed and his face almost bored. Nevertheless, she had the impression that he was just as nervous as her. He could feel the change–the_ feelings_–and he was trying desperately not to embarrass himself.

"I wanted to apologize," she said.

"Apology accepted," he replied, without waiting for her elaborate. He sat up straighter, his visage assuming a polite, almost gentlemanly, appearance. "I wanted to apologize as well." His eyes flicked towards the table. "I shouldn't have called you that."

"Thank you. I appreciate your apology, and I forgive you."

They both nodded and the situation became even more awkward. Draco looked at his silverware, while Hermione observed the couple sitting at the table next to them.

"Don't think I'm suddenly going to be nice to you now, Granger."

She looked up, surprised by his harsh tone, but she quickly noted the smile playing on his lips. She shook her head. "Considering your upbringing, it's a wonder you can even socialize with anybody."

He smirked. "So, you're busy Friday night."

"Actually, I–"

"That wasn't a question. I'll be picking you up for dinner, around six. Be ready. And don't wear _that_." He nodded at her dress.

"What's wrong with this dress?"

"Nothing, if you're sixty years old."

"I happen to like this dress very much, Malfoy, and I–" She was cut off by Malfoy's sudden chuckling. It wasn't long before she found herself laughing a little too.

_The End._


End file.
